Mass Effect d20
by darthsquirt2
Summary: Change requires adaption, and the bigger the change, the larger adaption required. For Alton Baltek, still a single digit bard and know it all in his planes, being thrown blindly into a very different world that uses a radically different core rulebook, adapting his old rules to his new home in time to help defeat an ancient evil is a challenge he cannot back away from.
1. Teleport With Error

"Damn it all, the artefact's going critical!"

"Fine time for Blasphemus to roll a one."

"It happens to the best of villains sometimes."

"Alton, use the scroll."

A quiet voice muttered arcane words in rapid order, and the world turned a brilliant white.

"Lirr, guide this foolish soul."Alton muttered, picking himself up from the hard metal flooring. "By the Nineteen, who builds a floor out of metal? A novice wizard with grease could take this dungeon solo."

Though blinded-that is to say under the effects of a blind spell or enchantment, not actually blind-he casually dusted off his sleeves, rolled his shoulders, and waited for the effects to wear off.

"Hey Wrex," A female-human, judging by the sound of it-voice shouted from somewhere to his left. "Do we still have any…what the hell?"

_Ahh. _He thought_. That would be the alarm._

"Yeah," A more guttural throat-Half Orc? Orc? Troll? He couldn't place it-spoke from behind him. "I see it." He felt a cold circle of metal pressed into the back of his neck. "He's got a nice sword. Tell Shepard we have a stowaway."

Stowaway? He couldn't possibly have heard that right? Who with a modicum of sense would build a ship from _metals_?

Within six rounds-each precisely six seconds for those as confused as Alton is-the room around him was flooded with the sounds of metallic boots hitting the floor.

_Gods, the ship is metal, their boots are metal, the dwarves must be making a killing. What next? Are the weapons and armour here all made of gems?_

When blind_ finally_ wore off and Alton opened his eyes, it appeared he was wrong. The figures around him, the ones pointing strangely blocky handheld devices at him, seemed to sport onyx armour.

Alton tried as casually as possible to make his spot checks, glancing around innocently. Some of the humanoids around him seemed very off core-namely what appeared to be a sentient purple gas with glowing eyes encased in armour, and a strangely conical, an obviously dragonborn man with a blue shard over one of his eyes.

_Hells._ Alton thought. Enchanted equipment was a sure sign that this was a tougher than average group. If he still had his party, he might be able to escape, but as it was, they'd have him at negative hitpoints in less than a round, considering they all looked like they had actions readied.

_Charisma, don't fail me now._

A door in the back of the, rather spacious, room dinged and rolled open. Out strode a tall, imposing woman. Her hair, a fiery red, was realty tied back, and scars crossed her face. She wore imposing black armour with a trio of stripes-two white, and one red-down its side.

_PC._ He begged silently. _PC,PC,PC, please be a PC._

If experience taught anything, it was that anyone with such a presence existed, they were either a Person of Character, or a villain. She, and the colourful people around her, looked like the ideal party, but judging by his surroundings-especially the lighting-it was very likely that they were, in fact, quite evil.

The woman moved to stand directly in front of him, easily towering at least a foot over his head, and eyed him warily.

_Don't antagonize, you have seven hit points. Don't antagonize, you have seven hit points._

_Don't antagonize, you have seven hit points._

"Alton." He greeted, holding out his hand and smiling nervously. "Alton Baltek, gentleman adventurer."

"Commander Shepard," The woman replied, pointedly ignoring his outstretched arm. "Council SpecTRe. Now what the hell are you doing aboard my ship?"

"Hells." He corrected automatically, unable to resist correcting the woman. _Officer!_ "Slightly trembling-not from fear, but from exhaustion, thank you-he continued. "There are, where I'm from anyway, nine hells." Then the thought hit him, that her statement might have been literal. "We're…we're not in the hells are we?" _Though that would help explain the metal ship_. "Which one? There are several devils on the eight level who's plans I've helped foil, and I'd really rather not run into them again."

There was complete silence for several-six-seconds, then the _thing _behind him began to cackle uproariously. Alton sneaked a glance around to the figure, then immediately snapped his head back around to look again at the commander.

_Great. A hell spawn. Please let him be a demonic one._

(As everyone knows, demonic and devilish forces have been at war since, and until, time immemorial, and thus if the hideous monstrosity behind him was a demon, it would be less likely to gut him and then devour his soul.)

The imposing officer stared blankly at him for a moment longer, and then turned to her dragonborn party member.

"Garrus, cuff him and take him to the conference room. Everyone else, back to your posts."

Alton was elated as the one she called Garrus bound him and led him to the elevator. After all, the party's thief had practically forced the rest of them to take a few ranks in escape artist. That, and he wasn't being taken to the brig.

_Unless…unless they don't have one. Or don't need one._

Alton gulped, and decided to ready an action. Just in case.

* * *

A/N: This is a trial fic, created for the purpose to gauge reaction. If there is interest, then I will continue this story. As aforementioned, this is an attempt to gauge reaction, please let me know if I should devote time to writing more, or not. Thank you.


	2. Spell Range Means Horizontal & Vertical

Two hours..

Two hours and fifty rounds since he'd been captured.

Two hours and twenty two rounds since they'd left him here.

And two hours and twenty three rounds since he'd escaped his bindings.

Alton paced about, occasionally pressing his ear to the door he'd been dragged in through, but he heard nothing. He didn't know whether it was because the room was soundproofed, or if it was just because he was, at heart, a flighty individual, and as such, less attune to his surroundings, unable to focus properly.

He sighed.

They'd taken his sword and his bag, but not his cape, bracers, belt, or rings.

Truth be told, he wasn't sure if he was supposed to escape or not.

It wouldn't be the first time. His initiation to the Harpers had begun with him being imprisoned and forced to escape with little more than guile and a quick wit. He couldn't help wondering whether or not the same applied here.

He glanced at the door. It had not handle, or obvious mechanism for opening. Just that strange green light on the side of the door.

_Arcane ward?_

He peered closer, his nose almost touching the strange device, staring unblinkingly at it. It seemed to lightly hum with energy.

_Definitely a ward._

He cursed softly. Vix was always the one who had taken care of traps, arcane or mechanical. _She'd be out of here in two rounds. What can I do? Give a rousing speech to it? Recite ancient lore_? Alton continued pacing, whistling the melody of an elven ballad to himself, trying to level his nerves. He had magic, he had enchanted equipment, he even had a set of masterwork tools-a gift from Vix. He _could _escape.

_But where? I don't even know what plane I'm on, much less where the others might be._

He could wait and try to talk to that woman. She'd seemed pretty stable, and it was only a step from that to sensible. _Besides, talking is what I do best._

The flaw with that plan, was that it involved waiting, something he was absolutely done with.

_That's it. I'm getting the hells out of here. I'm going to-_

The doors before him slid open, and in walked the commander and her dragonborn friend from earlier, as well as two other humans, one male with a very fancy hairstyle, and another woman in white and _Pink?_ armour.

_Not cross, anger, or in any way offend this woman._ He gulped, his courage failing as his whistling died mid tune.

The commander's eyes darted from him to the empty chair, and the restraints lying abandoned on the floor nearby.

She turned back to Alton, raising an eyebrow.

"Care to explain how you got aboard my ship?" She asked evenly.

_Oh gods, she must be a worshipper of Vecna. Not even Handur could read into _that _expression._

"Ah. That. Well, I might've accidently teleported here after…"

He stopped himself from saying; "I lied about being proficient with the use of magical items to my companions and they trusted be with our escape scroll since our mage was busy bleeding to death."

Instead he swallowed his tongue, and instead uttered, "I valiantly helped my stalwart compatriots defeat Blasphemus the Woefully Unrepentant, his failing disjunction field generator disrupted our attempt to escape his lair together."

The commander raised an inquisitive eyebrow, her expression still otherwise frustratingly neutral.

"_Magic._ You expect me to believe that you arrived on my ship through a _magical accident_."

Alton gulped, a bead of sweat rolling down his brow. "Well, I admit that one more thoroughly versed in the arcane art might've met with more success, in my defence, I was under quite a bit of pressure at the time."

Alton's thoughts drifted back to those final moments. Handur standing at his fore, smiling encouragingly down at him. The chaos of the arcane vortex behind them glinting off the Paladin's armour. He saw Bellacylya, clutching the hem of a bleeding Xilimax's robes. He watched the devotee of Pelor desperately try to save the wizened old mage. Vix, the most talented woman he'd ever met, clinging to him tightly, her body fitting almost perfectly against his. His friends, his dearest companions all. For a quarter of a decade, they'd journeyed together up and down the sword coast, from Waterdeep to Amn. They'd been confidants, allies, and family. More than a team...they'd been a party.

He drifted back to the present, now staring idly at the floor, blinking back tears.

"Oh gods." He whispered, stumbling backward into a seat. "They're gone…all of them, just…gone."

He shook his head trembling violently. "By Lirr, I never should've convinced Handur to take that job. If the Baron had just sent troops, or if someone else had gone…If I hadn't led them there…"

Alton dropped his face into his hands, letting the tears flow openly. "It's all my fault." He breathed.

A hand touched his shoulder. He glanced up, surprised, to see the commander standing over him, eying him inquisitively. Almost concerned.

"I led them into it." He swallowed with no small amount of difficulty. "I likely got them all killed," His head dropped back down to gaze at his hands, now lying palm upward in his lap. "but Lirr help me, we had to do it. We had to stop him."

Above, unbeknownst to him, the commander bit thoughtfully on the corner of her lip.

"Have you ever encountered the Geth?" She finally asked.

"Gith?" Alton's hear shot back up, his sorrows momentarily forgotten. "Yes, once. We encountered them after activating some kind of planar beacon."

"You found a prothean beacon?" The man, previously forgotten, to Alton's left blurted out, surprised.

"Promethean? No. At least, I don't think so. They're purely mythological, so I doubt it."

"Not a chance." The woman with the peculiar armour scheme spoke next, shaking her head slowly. "They were wiped out. By the reapers.

"Reapers? No. Legend says they were destroyed by Vecna for bringing her blessing of enlightenment to the younger races."

The two groups stared at each other from across an immeasurable cultural divide. Slowly, It began to dawn on the others that Alton was serious, or at least, seriously deranged. For Alton, the realization came that he had, unbelievably, not simply switched planes. Somehow, impossibly, he had gone even farther. Possibly beyond the reach of the gods themselves.

_Lirr, guide and protect your humble servant. Lend me your infinite foresight, for I am lost and alone. Lend me your knowledge for it is my only weapon. Lend me your wit, lest I be driven mad. Lend me your wisdom, as I dumped it for charisma._

"I still think he's crazy. And not the good kind either, though we've got plenty of that already." The dragonborn shook his head reprovingly.

Alton, his initial shock almost immediately replaced by anger, stood, glaring at the man, outraged that the kin of the ancient draconics, or whatever this realm had in their stead, could posess the audacity to doubt one of the fundamental constants of the universe.

"You dare." He growled, satisfied to see that the spiky headed one was at least shaken, though the entire room was now pointing their bulky-were they weapons?-in his direction. For a moment, nobody moved.

Just a moment.

Six seconds later, Alton was back in the chair, smirking, whilst being restrained, once again, by the commander. In the centre of the room, the two other humans were busy trying to extract the one called Garrus from underneath the mooing body of a celestial bison.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, bison.


End file.
